Black Paint hammer my nameusing your handsfists to stonepalms to sky i have grown dog armstell me. am i mad?i go to the sea at negative tideand shapeshift against the granitein the hot spring…

swim float a salty grain sweep out  clean out mirror by your window mirage in your profile vulture feathers  stolen from the shrine room tief and lie tief and lie perfect desecration. here is…

Mourning Ground (Bloody Bay, Tobago West Indies 1996) be there shanty roads Charlotteville fêtes on Saturdays pink blue purple houses dressed in pelou and black cake bottle tree prayers and the sting of bird…

things lost in the move opium seeds pickax coffee in the sun room crossbow 15 wooden pallets 14 pounds of weed a road that leads to water dutch iron pot a name to live…

she gathers small bundles of lichen from the fallen branches beneath the black oaks. another storm. her storm. she doesn’t know it’ll be decades before it clears. small stones, artist conk and pinenuts in…

loosing the farm sythe hoe pick axe and cutlass fetish altar against the teacart drunk again we lay in the grass so take this sorrow You painted bird And remember the small perfume of…

she  left at twilight goodbye love when raptors take flight there is a small hope on the road here she exhales atropa consort of spirits she’s better up in the mountains

redbud blooms unshy as you grieve vermillion  mockingbird  there’s no one left at noontide

“When you go to the river to wash your hands, wash all you fingers”. – Mbayero, before going to mbongi, Mekelekele.